


Put Me Down

by GreenBird



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Axii as therapy, Bad Sex, Confessions, Crying, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Sex Going Bad, Vague descriptions of disasters, Wolf Pack, brothers in arms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:02:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27017761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenBird/pseuds/GreenBird
Summary: “Eskel, your Axii is good, and you can control the intensity. It shut it all off.” Lambert tapped his fingers on his temple. “You can quiet it down.”The understanding on Eskel’s face was infused with pity, and Lambert struggled not to spit at it. “Lam,” he said, “how long has it been since you’ve slept?”———Lambert is haunted by the world he retreats from every winter, haunted by the ghosts he encounters on the Path. The dead, the dying, the ruined, hateful world. He can’t keep his brain quiet. He can’t sleep. But Axii has a special way of clearing his mind, and Eskel has the best Axii. It’s an easy solution.If only the problem with him was just as simple.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert, Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Lambert
Comments: 47
Kudos: 230





	1. Ruined

**Author's Note:**

> CW: Suicidal ideation, descriptions of trauma and abuse
> 
> Also, ‘brother’ is used here in the ‘brothers in arms’ sense- not the incest sense. I know some people are squicked by that. These men are not related, lol. 
> 
> First chapter could totally be read as gen.

Axii wasn’t supposed to work on him- he’d been trained and drilled so many times over on how to shake it off that the sign held little sway over his mind. It shouldn’t work, but Lambert never had the most fortified mind, and Eskel’s signs hit like a brick to the face.

The first time it happened was a bit of an accident.

Lambert was freaking out about something, he couldn’t even recall now what it was, but he’d thrown a punch- a bastard thing to do. Eskel deflected him easily. The fight was all one-sided: Eskel was calm and level where Lambert was hot and tumultuous. The younger wolf snarled and spit, made to strike again when Eskel brought his hand up in a familiar shape.

“Calm down.”

It should have been infuriating, being placated like that, having all of the ire sucked from him. A fire snuffed. He was pacified and puppeted, made to go sit on the couch near a fire and take a drink of water, before being released from Eskel’s hold. 

Lambert wanted to scream and lash out- that was a dirty trick, using Axii to get out of a fight. He was furious, in principle, but something else occurred to him.

Lambert could resist the thought control portion of Eskel’s Axii- he was strong enough for that, but it was the compulsion that snared him. When he was told to calm, he did it. When he was told to sit and relax, he had to. His thoughts were still there, but muted- suddenly quieted through the magic of the sign. It was like water over a burn; the ache still existed, but the cool relief from the heat was ecstasy. He was calm because Eskel had made him calm. He was calmer than he had been in weeks.

“Are we good?” Eskel had asked, eyeing his little brother carefully. 

It was the strangest thing: he was good. Everything was settled in his mind, no longer cacophonic and infuriating, biting at his every thought.

Lambert had frowned down into his cup, looked up to his brother, and shrugged. “Yeah. We’re good,”

* * *

The second occurrence happened not long after the first. 

Lambert came back to Kaer Morhen every winter. He had to. Unlike Geralt and rarely Eskel, Lambert couldn’t even comprehend the thought of not coming back. He hated the fucking keep and everything in it, hated the memories and the nightmares it stored- but to be without it was far fucking worse. 

Lambert had to have the safety of the keep- he needed a place to relax and unwind and drink and yell. The Path had very few sanctuaries available, and Kaer Morhen was one of them. A season, no matter how good or bad, always required a winding down. 

Witchers saw a lot of shit. Some of it they did, most of it they just witnessed. Killing a monster wasn’t traumatic, but having to put its dying victim out of their misery? Lambert never got used to it. He never got used to seeing charred bodies of children, or eviscerated old women, or a young couple bludgeoned to death. He saw so many soft and innocent suffer those fates, with the bandits and bastards like himself living on. He was a mean fucker, not exactly by nature, but by necessity. Better to laugh in the face of death, to make crude remarks and callous statements then to break down in hysterics. 

Certainly, there were people he hated, and people he did wish to see dead- but all too often those weren’t the corpses he piled on the pyres. 

The children were always the worst, always the ones that dug deep into his marrow and poisoned him with infuriated grief. He remembered the screams of the Trials too clearly- the mages themselves said he had an impeccable memory of his ordeal. What a horrible thing to be blessed with. 

So, when the season ended, all the ghosts of the things he had witnessed followed him up the mountain, and he tried to spend the winter laying them to rest.

Although the hauntings were figurative- not something he knew how to easily eradicate with salt and iron, they brushed their cold fingers on his mind at the worst moments. He would cut ingredients for potions and imagine digging the blade into his arm. He would bathe in a tub and fight the urge to stay under the water, breathe it in. He would practice fight with his brothers and imagine dropping his sword at just the right moment, letting a honed blade cut his neck.

These were easily shaken, pushed back and away. He could fight those ghosts with a blink and a sneer. The hardest ones, the most nefarious, were the ones that plagued him from sleep. 

Sometimes, closing his eyes at night led to images replayed of the things he’d seen; clear as a master’s painting. The faces of those he’d failed or fumbled across would startle him into wakefulness, make him get out of bed and send him off into the keep, regardless of the hour. A night or two were tolerable, but when the faces of the dead plagued him for nearly a week, he sought out Eskel.

“I need a favor,” he said, bursting into Eskel’s room uninvited.

“I need you to knock,” Eskel responded, laying a book across his lap. They’d all retired after dinner- Lambert too harried to play games or socialize. He’d stormed about the keep, trying to exhaust himself to no avail. Now it was late, and sleep evaded him.

Lambert knocked on the open door to be an ass, and continued on talking. “I need your help with something.”

Eskel softened immediately at that. “What is it?”

Lambert paced, unable to keep still, frenzied in his exhaustion. “You remember when you used Axii on me?”

“I told you; I am sorry about that. That wasn’t fair, but you were being a dick.”

Lambert waved him off. “I don’t care. It worked. It made me calm. I need you to do it again.”

“What?” Eskel stood from his chair by the fire, staring at Lambert in confusion. “Why would you want me to do that?”

“Eskel, your Axii is good, and you can control the intensity. You made me calm down when I was in a fucking fit.” He was man enough to admit he had indeed thrown a fucking fit. “It shut it all off.” Lambert tapped his fingers on his temple. “You can quiet it down.”

The understanding on Eskel’s face was infused with pity, and Lambert struggled not to spit at it. 

“How long has it been since you’ve slept?”

Lambert shrugged, trying to be dismissive, but he knew he looked like shit. His eyes were bruised and sunken, his hands shaking with exhaustion. He looked horrible and felt worse. “I can’t close my eyes, Eskel. There’s too much.” He gestured wildly to his head. He couldn't put it to words- he was already saying too much. He didn’t want to burden Eskel, he wanted to sleep.

“I can use Somne if you like, but that may not stop your mind from rushing,” Eskel offered. “I’ll have to cast a decently powerful Axii to make you go to sleep.”

“Good,” he said, throwing his arms out wide, “knock me out. I don’t care. Just make me sleep.”

Eskel looked unsure, but Lambert knew he would cave. His brother was kind, and being asked for help was a weakness of his.

“Alright, get in.” Eskel gestured to his own bed.

‘What? Here?” He only slept in Eskel’s room after they had drank themselves into bed together, needing something physical and without pity.

“No, the fucking hallway you moron,” Eskel snapped. “Yes, here. Scoot to one side and I’ll put you out. If it goes wrong I want to be in the room.”

Lambert wasn’t about to argue- he was going to get sleep and that was all that mattered. He stripped to his underthings and flopped like a dog, rolling himself up in a fur. Eskel was fighting an amused look.

“Okay. What exactly should I be making you do?”

Lambert thought on it- what orders would his mind allow? “Tell me to relax, not to remember and to go to sleep,” he said, shifting down to snuggle the pillow he stole. “Oh, yeah,” Lambert added, “and tell me not to dream.”

Eskel sighed and nodded, flexing his hand. “Alright. Let’s hope this works.”

The Axii hit like a wave, pulling him into the undercurrent, making him move with its force. Eskel’s command was soft spoken and warm, and suddenly the pull of the wave was a sweeter, gentle swinging- like laying in a hammock on a beautiful day. He was so tired, and everything was clear and quiet now. He couldn’t remember why he was awake at all.

It was bliss.

* * *

It became a habit, making Eskel put him to bed. It took a few weeks for Geralt to notice, and even then his commentary was mild. He was perhaps assuming they were fucking, and left it at that. 

The suspicions changed during chores one day. 

A large storage cellar had collapsed a few years ago. Most of the equipment in it was likely crushed, but a portion of the room had held up. Vesemir had moved a lot of stone that was blocking the way for another project, and now the rest of the storage was accessible. Most of it was old equipment and weaponry- useless now, but some of the metal may be salvageable. 

The day was cold and the work hard enough to make good exercise. Lambert complained about doing menial labor, but did like it. Exhausting his body helped with getting sleep, and the mindless exertion cleared his thoughts of most phantoms. 

Some pieces of iron were salvageable. They didn’t have a working forge anymore, but Vesimir could have the mule haul a few hundred pounds down to sell to the blacksmith come spring. Most of the twisted steel and iron had rusted to the point it was useless, but the further he dug, the better the quality. Some had stayed out of the wet enough to be worth the trouble, and Lambert tossed the salvage onto a waiting tarp.

Geralt was working on his own section, and Eskel was hauling stone and checking over the caved-in portion, grumbling under his breath about obvious safety issues. Lambert was bitching the entire time, obviously. It was as essential to him as breathing, but he did it more to agitate Geralt than anything else.

His constant banter was brought to a halt as he lifted a certain piece of iron from a pile. It was small- it had to be for what it was used for, an iron half-moon on a hinge, rusted and old, but worn on the inside. A child’s manacle. The same he’d had strapped to him- metal, never leather. A witcher boy could tear through leather. The manacle needed to be strong enough to endure a tortured child’s desperate thrashing, withstand their death throes. 

He didn’t realize he was panicking until Geralt touched his arm, jerking Lambert into motion. He swung at the white wolf with the manacle still clenched in his fist, missed and stumbled. The room was so close and dark. It smelled wet and old and dead. He twisted and threw the manacle into the dark, grasping at his own wrists. He could still feel them there, the cold iron he wore smoothed by his own flesh. 

Screams echoed in his head- not only his own. His friends, his classmates. Agony and dying, one boy choking on his own blood, one wailing for his mother. Lambert, biting through his tongue to quiet his pleading. 

Another hand grabbed him, this time stronger, and he screamed with the rest of the boys, screamed in the aching dark.

“Lambert, calm down. You’re safe.”

It was suddenly gone. Wiped away with a broad, warm hand. Cool winter daylight seeped in from a high window, and he was no longer in the cellar. A level voice directed him to a warm hall, placing him near a fire.

“No one will hurt you here,” Eskel told him, and he was right. Eskel was right. He was calm and safe and no one would hurt him and it felt so fucking nice.

“I’m going to bring you back out of it. Please relax.”

The peaceful quiet retreated, and the noises in his head, the howling phantoms returned- but they were farther, now. An echo in the hall.

Eskel sat next to him, and Lambert nearly flinched when he felt the warm hand in his hair, brushing on the back of his neck. A reassuring pet to a frightened animal. It felt like pity, but he didn’t have enough ire in him to care.

“How are you?”

“Fuck, man,” Lambert croaked. His voice was raspy. Had he been screaming? Geralt hung behind Eskel a few paces, a bright red mark on his jaw. Maybe Lambert hadn’t missed him like he thought. “Sorry about that,” he muttered, running a hand over his face. It was wet with sweat. He had a feeling his sense of time was greatly skewed. “How long was I down?”

“A few minutes,” said Eskel, withdrawing his touch. Lambert was embarrassed to say he wanted it back. “We tried to get you out of the cellar, but you weren’t listening. You were screaming and fighting us. I didn’t want to knock you out.” Eskel looked guilty. “So I cast Axii on you. I figured since I do it fairly often for sleep, you wouldn’t mind.”

Lambert grunted, caught up in the fact that he had lost time and apparently his reasoning in the cellar. He was so fucked up. Geralt was eyeing him like he was a rabid animal. 

Eskel’s worried shifting next to him made Lambert reply.

“No, it's good you did. Thanks. Sorry.”

That relieved Eskel somewhat, and the Witcher nodded and stood. “We will finish up down there. You stay up here and take a break.”

Annoyance flared hot and sudden. “I’m not a fucking baby, Eskel,” he snapped. The irritation was shadowed with something that felt much more like fear. Not being able to handle his ghosts was a weakness, and now both of his brothers saw it.

Eskel didn’t even blink at the outburst. “I know you’re not. That’s why I want you to take over my next chore and muck out the stables.”

Lambert groaned dramatically, but was thankful for the out. 

He didn’t go down there again.

* * *

It took until evening for Geralt to approach him. As usual, he blurted out what he wanted to ask with no preamble.

“You allow Eskel to cast Axii on you?”

Lambert sighed and turned from what he was working on, leaning back against the table. “Yeah. He tells me to go to sleep and I do. Works nice on insomnia.”

Geralt looked at him quietly. Lambert could see all the wheels turning in his brother’s head. In his usual chatty manner, he responded with an acknowledging hum. Lambert knew Geralt- he knew that the white wolf was a lot more strict in his moral code than himself. It was why he avoided letting Geralt know at all. 

A moment of silence passed between them, and Lambert caved easily under Geralt’s assessing stare. “Okay,” he said, “it’s an abuse of Axii and I’m bothering Eskel, but that’s between me and him.” 

Geralt’s lips thinned. “If something like that happens again…”

Lambert felt his chest tighten, and cut him off. “Yeah, listen- I am sorry I hit you I just sort of, well, there was a lot going on.” 

Geralt tipped his head and finally looked away, gaze skittering to the left. Strangely, he looked nervous. “It’s not that,” he snapped. Lambert was stunned enough to be quiet. “If it happens again and Eskel isn’t there, would you be okay if I did it?”

That was unexpected. Enough so that Lambert didn’t have a response. Geralt seemed to take the silence as a negation.

“Forget it,” he muttered.

“No,” Lambert said, shaking his head, “I mean yeah it’s okay. Don’t be doing it to make me do your chores or something.”

Geralt scoffed, offended. “I wouldn’t do that!” Lambert saw the moment he realized it was in jest, and Geralt grumbled in annoyance. “Just to calm you down,” he said. “To make sure it's safe.”

To make sure you’re safe, Lambert heard. He fought the strange curl of warmth that bloomed in him at the statement. 

“Yeah, okay,” he said, turning back to his work to avoid saying something more embarrassing. Behind him, Geralt coughed lightly and walked away.

* * *

Nothing happened for a while after that. Lambert was put to bed a few times, slept naturally a few more- it wasn’t as if he needed Eskel to put him down every night. However, with the shortened daylight and the colder weather, Lambert began to feel the crawl of his skin more clearly. He didn’t break the same way he did with the irons, but it was still an unwanted visitor.

Vesemir’s directions were a constant rasp on his temper, and the training that day was rife with corrections.

“Lambert, your feet.”

Fucking footwork, really? Like he was a child. Like he didn’t know he just slipped on a patch of ice. Geralt stopped where he was, lowering his sword allowing Lambert to recover.

“I fucking have it,” he snapped, kicking at the snow around him. Eskel was out on a hunt, growling to himself about a need for fresh meat. Geralt had a few knew stances he’d learned further south and was showing their efficiency against a more traditional defense, if only Lambert could stop fucking slipping.

Vesemir sighed off to his right, the old man leaning against a half wall, eyes cold and critical. Lambert wanted to snarl at him, but brought his sword up, instead.

He lunged towards Geralt again, watching the way the altered stance allowed more movement against his stab. Time slowed for a moment and Lambert enjoyed calculating the trajectory of the movement, the possible parry and block that could follow. 

The scene was ruined, however, as he turned to execute another move against Geralt’s guard, and his boot caught another patch of ice. The slip sent a small thrill up his spine at the loss of equilibrium. Any other time he would have recovered or evolved to include the slip, but something strange happened. Instead of shaking the feeling away, his mind leaned into it. The snowy ground under him turned into rocky terrain, and the shifting foot was not on ice, but crumbling stone. Geralt was nowhere to be seen, and instead, someone under the rocks at his feet screamed.

The sound shocked him into movement, and before he knew it Lambert was running up the steps to the keep, his sword forgotten in the yard. He threw the doors open with such force the resounding crack of the wood to stone temporarily stunned him.

The hall was empty, the only other inhabitants of the keep were behind him, and Lambert wanted to scream to fill the air. This cold, dead place was so close to becoming a pile of rubble itself. 

His boots, his fucking boots did this. Three seasons with these fucking boots and the treads were shit, the soles worn and the leather soaked with blood. He ripped them from his feet, snarling as he hurled them into the fire. They hissed and spat, wet from the cold, but he needed the traitorous things to burn. 

His Igni was wild, nearly an explosion. It lit the boots and the fur rug in front of the hearth, the smell of burnt hair foul and choking. It made him gag, made him stumble and turn away wretching as more images came with it, more memories and strange pain. 

A cooler rush of air put the rug out, and Lambert spun in alarm to see Geralt there, palm out in a cautious Aard. The smell hung in the air, terrible and tainted with the sick smokiness of burning leather.

“Lambert,” the white wolf rumbled, low and uncertain.

No, no. Geralt couldn’t see him like this. He couldn’t see it. How would he ever understand anything like this? How could he? How…

“It’s okay. Calm down.”

His Axii was weaker than Eskel’s, less efficient and consuming, but it still made his lungs pull deeper breaths, still kept him from running, still made the shadows retreat just a bit.

Geralt watched him, checking to see if the Axii held, his hand still poised to cast another. The standoff was strange- the two of them in an empty hall, Lambert bootless and wild-eyed, shivering, and his brother, the perfect white wolf, cautious and careful- a man taming an animal. 

“Lambert,” Geralt said again, chancing a step closer, “tell me what happened?”

Oh, how unfair, how utterly unfair. The Axii was just strong enough to open his mouth for a few words, but once the dam was cracked there was no stopping it, no holding it at bay.

“I slipped,” he blurted stupidly, “and then I went somewhere else. Somewhere I didn’t want to be, ever again.” Geralt nodded and tipped his head, and the small, genuine gesture pulled more words from Lambert’s grasp. “I heard screaming under my feet.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up…

“Tell me,” Geralt said, holding the sign. Lambert wanted to scream at him, to bite and thrash as he eviscerated himself right there in the main hall. He knew he could throw the Axii if it tried to force him to do something he didn’t want, and he hated that he wanted the words out of him just as much as he hated that he was speaking.

“There was a small settlement in the Kestrels. Came across it after a storm.” No, no, no. He was going to vomit. He couldn’t tell this, he had to tell this. “There was a rockslide.” Fuck, why Geralt? Why was he making him do this? Why did Lambert want to? “A few people made it, but a dozen were trapped.” The shifting stones under his feet as he climbed the rubble, his gloves ripped and bloody as he tried to dig his way in. “I could hear them screaming. There were several left alive, buried.” Frightened voices, crying and pain. So many frantic heartbeats beneath his feet. A child’s wailing. “There was so much stone, too heavy to move it all. I got to a few.” Lifting a bloodied woman free with her dead son in her arms, scrambling in again as she wailed for her daughter. “I dug for a whole day. I only found three.” Three living people, broken and terrified, screaming still as they saw his face, thinking he was death coming for them. “By the next morning, the screams stopped.” His fingers were down to the bone then, Swallow only allowing for so much regeneration. “By night, there were no heartbeats.”

He didn’t know what to do then, gutted and empty, the words pulled out hand over hand. Lambert shivered. His feet were cold.

Geralt hadn’t released the Axii, but it had lessened in strength. With the last bit of it he told Lambert to sit on the old couch by the fire and stay put. Lambert wanted to complain, to get up and go to his own room and hide himself. He was exposed, raw and fragile and coming down from something so uniquely exhausting that he just wanted to sleep.

His brother returned after a few minutes, a bottle and two cups in his hands. Lambert took his numbly, and Geralt sat next to him, closer than usual. The ale Geralt brought was watery, but still welcome. In the hearth, Lambert’s boots hissed and curled in the flames.

“You saved three lives,” he said, staring into the fire. Lambert winced, wanting to pull away and realizing he was up against the arm of the couch and Geralt’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter,” he spat, fighting the impulse to hurl the cup. “All this strength they torture into us, all this power they force our bodies to hold, and all I can do is maybe save a few pathetic people?”

“You were strong enough to pull them out. Keen enough to hear them.” Geralt took a sip of his drink, and he turned to look at him. Lambert blinked frantically, not taking his eyes off the fire as his brother watched him. “You were brave enough to try.” 

Lambert’s throat tightened, and he drank a hasty gulp to fight it. 

“Three lives. That’s not nothing.”

They didn't say any more, and watched the boots burn. At some point Vesemir came in and disappeared into the galley, setting their swords back in the rack without a sound.

Eskel returned later with four snowbirds, and dinner was succulent and pleasant.

The next morning, a pair of boots sat outside Lambert’s door. A hastily scribbled note was stuffed in one.

> _Had an extra pair, should fit._

Geralt’s penmanship was atrocious.

* * *

The rest of that winter went fairly well. He didn’t have any more spells of panic, and the ghosts were held at bay as the snows started to recede. He slept better, mostly because both of his brothers became accustomed to putting him down at night.

The evenings where he didn’t ask Eskel, who still made Lambert sleep in his bed with him when he cast him to sleep, he sometimes managed on his own. It worked half of the time. The other half he spent wandering the quiet dark of the keep, sometimes working on projects, sometimes staring into the embers of a fire.

Geralt caught him several times, herding Lambert back to bed. He was sure that the white wolf listened for Lambert leaving his room, and stalked him to bring him back.

Lambert complained about it every time, bitching all the way up the stairs about being put to bed like a child. He felt embarrassed as Geralt waited for him to strip down and get under the sheets- Geralt’s Axii wasn’t strong enough to do anything but put him down- so Lambert did all the work himself. It was mortifying. It was intimate. It was weirdly comforting.

“Lambert,” Geralt said, voice and rough but still soothing, “go to sleep.”

He always did. Sometimes, he swore he felt a hand smooth back his hair, a soft utterance that bid him to have peaceful dreams.

It didn’t matter if it was real or not, those nights he slept in perfect darkness. 

* * *

He always thought the next season will be better, because how the fuck could it be worse than the year before? How could he beat the trapped screaming, or the dying lovers, or the burnt children of the year before? Lambert knew better than to hope for a kinder year, but damn was he a fool for even thinking the last season was a nightmare.

Kaedwen was hit by a plague.

Witchers were essential in plague times- unable to contract or carry the diseases that ravaged mankind, they could be used for more than monster killing. Lambert found work with desperate Lords- investigation and plague tracking, body disposal and the eventual killing of the necrophages that came with a pandemic. Lambert earned money hand over fist, but it wasn’t enough to keep him in drink to make it worthwhile.

This illness was horrendous- painful and consuming, it wasted people away to nothing, but kept them clinging to life. So few seemed to shake it that it was nearly a death sentence. He began to see hollowed eyes peering out at him in every house, families driven to board their ill loved ones up in a shack until they either recovered or died. He burned houses down that were filled with the skeletal dead. He found the dying everywhere- turned out and shunned from villages. They would scrape and plead with him, and even his yelling would not scare them off. The most often request was not water or coin, but a quick, professional death.

Last season he was mistaken for a reaper, and this season he became one. 

He’d let them decide the way, let them have their prayers and confessions. He’d ask, over and over - are you sure? Are you sure? So many were certain that this was a better way: they had seen the others go in paroxysms and broken screams.

He always burned them afterward. Stacked stones on their ashes.

By the time winter came, the worst of the plague passed, and thousands were dead across Kaedwen. Lambert smelled the scent of rot and sick in the very earth, and only the sharp mountain air gave him relief. 

Eskel and Geralt arrived before him, and they had seen the ruin. 

“Did you stay in Kaedwen?” Eskel asked, looking Lambert over after pulling him into an embrace. He noticed the way his brother’s hands passed over his ribs and checked his arms. He already knew he was too skinny. 

“Yeah,” he said, and didn’t need to say more. Eskel had him up and in the keep, had him sitting and eating within the half hour. Geralt kept his cup full. He asked them about their seasons, listened and knew he was more quiet than usual. For once, the pair of concerned gazes didn’t make him angry or embarrassed.

He knew he looked like death. He had played the role well over the past months. 

Even Vesemir kept himself unoffensive and at a distance. Lambert couldn’t even summon up the slightest amount of ire for the old wolf, just nod his way and take a drink.

When Eskel offered to put him to bed that night, he took it. The Axii was a sweet relief, a cool drink. He sighed appreciatively and let himself be put down.

* * *

Eskel didn’t let him sleep unattended for a week, and afterward Geralt insisted on putting him to bed. Lambert accepted it until he had the energy to feel embarrassed again. Three weeks in the keep and he finally was able to keep his brothers off of him. 

He trained hard to build back lost muscle. Ate and drank to put on weight. Vesemir finally began to needle him, and when Lambert yelled back he swore he saw the old wolf smile. 

Everything was fine.

Until it wasn’t.

Lambert didn’t pinpoint what did it- there were a few small cracks that settled in his mind, that planted the idea. He overheard Geralt talking about a Cat witcher he had met who was blood-mad and vicious. Vesemir commented on quality and strength as he inspected Eskel’s newest sword- and how a poorly made steel always killed its owner when it inevitably buckled. Eskel mentioned a man he’d rescued who was traumatized from his encounter with a wraith, and barely spoke or moved. How he’d delivered that man to his family, knowing he would never be the same.

These small things, these mundane comments- they buried a seed in him that came to sprout, whose roots widened the cracks, and when it broke, it did so violently. 

He fell asleep naturally, exhausted after a long day of training, but his sleep was soon poisoned. Lambert was used to nightmares, every witcher was. He tended to camp more than take to inns because he knew he sometimes shouted himself awake, caught between the claws of wakefulness and sleep, seeing things and being powerless against them. He had cast an Aard or two, broken furniture. Nature was more forgiving than angry innkeepers.

He hadn’t woken up screaming in Kaer Morhen in a long while, which was why Eskel was at his side within seconds.

“Lambert?” Eskel shouted, large hands clutching his shoulders, catching him as he jolted awake. Normally he would attack someone grabbing him in his sleep, but not now- not after that dream.

Lambert scrabbled at Eskel, clung to him as the phantom of the dream faded, as his heart slowed. Eskel muttered nonsense into his hair, holding him close, trying to soothe him.

It had the opposite effect.

The dream, it told him how this would end, what would happen if he kept behaving like this. He couldn’t do this anymore.

“It’s fine,” he snapped, wrenching away. Eskel withdrew, eyes wide and worried, and Lambert felt a black plume of fear spread through him. “It’s fine Eskel, I was just startled.”

“You weren’t,” he said, not moving from the bedside. “Lambert, you were screaming my name.”

Lambert bared his teeth, leaned back against the wall to put space between them. “Get out,” he snarled, cold and furious. “I said I’m fine.”

Eskel shook his head, and his expression never hardened. “No.” His hand came up, and Lambert thrashed, wanted to scream and kick.

“Eskel,” he said, terror and anger at war in his throat. He didn’t get to finish his request as the Axii passed over him.

“Tell me about your dream.”

He didn’t want to, except that he did. He needed to. He needed to tell Eskel about it, in case it happened, in case Lambert was too far gone.

“You killed me,” he said. The Axii pulled it out effortlessly. Where Geralt’s had been halting and painful, Eskel’s was smooth and compelling. “You killed me because I’m ruined.”

Eskel jerked in surprise, and was on the bed next to him in an instant, reaching impulsively to comfort. Always the protector, his big brother. “Lambert, what do you mean? Tell me.”

The words spilled out. “Broken witchers get put down, Eskel,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing. “When they’re broken like me, they get put down.”

Eskel made a strangled noise, grabbing at his shoulders again, but this time to steady himself. “Lambert-“

The sign held strong, pushed more free. Inside, Lambert recoiled at the look on Eskel’s face, the absolute devastation his words caused. “I don’t want you to do it,” he said. “Not like in the dream. Not you or Geralt. Make Vesemir do it. The old man has done it before. It won’t matter to him.”

Eskel’s hands couldn’t settle, moving to his jaw, his neck, his arm again. Checking him over, holding him together. “Lambert, no one is going to hurt you.”

No, the dream showed him. Even the Axii couldn’t make him believe they wouldn’t. “He’ll do a clean cut,” Lambert insisted. “I saw it before, when I was in training.” He remembered it so clearly, now. How had he forgotten? How had he slipped so badly? “Ethan wouldn’t stop screaming- they brought him in. He’d killed someone. Eaten them.” A rabid wolf, they said. A mad dog. “Vesemir cut his head off nice and clean. I don’t want you to do it. I don’t want you to watch.”

The Axii broke, Eskel too distraught to hold it, and Lambert was in his arms, inescapably trapped against him. Eskel’s heart hammered in his chest, his breaths quick and quivering.

“You’re not broken,” he said, voice a rumble against Lambert’s skin. “You’re not dangerous to anyone but yourself.” Lambert fought back the scoff fighting its way out of his throat. Noble Eskel, forever struggling to redeem himself, even with his ruined little brother. 

“Regardless,” Eskel said, “we would find a way to fix you.”

Lambert pulled away from the frantic hug enough to peer up at Eskel. “No, you promise. You promise you won’t let me get away with it.” He’d already decided, long before the dream. Before even the Path, when they were still twisting and changing him, still killing and resurrecting his body, making it into the weapon they wanted. “If I go feral, if I hurt someone innocent. Some mother, some fucking kid. There won’t be anything left to fix in me by then. I won’t be me anymore.”

Some rabid dog, tearing into its owner- killing its pack, its pups. All the cracks in his mind, the ghosts and memories, they could drive him mad. Witchers were given such a long life. At what point did the man inside of them die?

“You’re not going to get close to it,” Eskel snarled, fingertips digging into his arms, shaking him in the iron grip. “I’m here. Geralt is here. We will help you.”

“You do help.” He didn’t mean to say it. It was so weak, barely a breath, but it drew Eskel in again, had him rubbing their cheeks together. Lambert smelled seawater, and knew how close Eskel was to tears. His poor brother.

“I’m okay now,” Lambert grumbled. 

Eskel pulled away, but only to shift and lay down, stealing one of Lambert’s pillows. “I’m staying the night,” he said, matter of fact. Lambert didn’t even have time to reply before he was pulled down as well. Eskel was immune to his grumbling complaints, and since he slept in his brother’s bed fairly often, there wasn’t much he could say to dissuade him.

Normally, when Lambert woke from a night when he’d been put to sleep, he’d found a way to wiggle up to Eskel and get an arm over him. He’d always try to get some distance between them after waking- he was a fucking guest. It was a bit rude to crowd a man out of his own bed. However, this time Eskel maneuvered him where he wanted him, and Lambert kept his growling to a minimum. 

They ended up back to chest, Eskel curling around his smaller brother and holding him close. Lambert tried not to flush in embarrassment when he shivered as Eskel spoke just behind him, close and warm. 

“You need me to make you sleep?”

“Nah,” he said. He felt safe like this, and even if he didn’t sleep, there was no way he was going to leave the bed. He’d scared Eskel. He needed to stay with him.

Before long, Eskel’s breaths lengthened in sleep, and Lambert counted them, listening in the dark to the slow beating of their hearts. Another drum echoed in the hall, just on the edge of his hearing, still awake and standing guard. He must have heard as well, came hot on Eskel’s heels when he screamed in his sleep. 

Lambert blinked frantically and turned his face into his pillow. He would need to find a way to thank Geralt in the morning.


	2. Bent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lambert tries to prove he’s fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s porn in here. Lambeskel in this one.
> 
> CW: talks of panic attacks, catatonia

* * *

  
Things became better those next few weeks. Lambert could train, keep focused on his tasks, fight with Vesemir— and most importantly, he could drink again. 

In the past season, getting drunk had gone from something he did for fun and entertainment to something he did to distract himself. Something he used to put himself to sleep. He would spend weeks dosed on white gull and spirits strong enough to clean the hull of a ship. He woke up with little memory and was thankful for it.

Geralt got him back into the social aspect of it, having brought a few better ales and liquors he’d received as part of his payment that year. The white wolf plied him gently with single bottles of good port here, and a nice cocktail with a lovely whiskey there. The drinking led to games, and games were always a happy distraction.

Somewhere along the way, he’d lost some of his Gwent deck. Not enough to make it useless, but enough to be a real challenge to win with. After playing several games with his brothers, he managed to win a few nicer cards to round out his set. Geralt may or may not have thrown a game or two, but Lambert wasn’t about to sneer at a gift.

It was one of those nights of drinking that they ventured into a discussion Lambert wanted to avoid. They talked about sex often- it was a thing with Witchers, the damn increased sex drive. Just like their physical appetite, it was disproportionately high. Not that he was a fiend or anything, but Lambert was on very good terms with his own hand. 

Sometimes the discussion would lead to offers, always a little drunk and ready to be dismissed, casual things. Comfort in the cold. A quick handjob or a hot mouth, perhaps if Lambert was comfortable enough to ask for it he could get a cock in him.

That hadn’t been happening since they started using Axii. He missed it, to be honest. He missed the closeness and the relief and how easy it was to let go and relax. He didn’t say as much- he already relied on his brothers far too much as it was. 

Now, a few drinks in Geralt was begrudgingly telling Eskel about why he was chased out of a brothel in Redania, much to Eskel’s delight. Geralt wasn’t the most expressive man on any day, but he did like making someone laugh when he could. Normally, Lambert would be cackling along, but the subject brought a memory forth that had his lips tightly closed.

He’d had a few strained meetings with whores over the Season, less than he usually did due to the state of things- but he had also come across another Witcher. A Bear- certainly a long way from home, stuck far up the Pontar and looking for some coin to get back to the coast. Lambert split a contract with him, even though Bears were notoriously ill-tempered fucks. Still, Joss had taken the peace offering and not been too terrible a work partner. When the Bear gave him a certain look after a few drinks, well, it only made sense…

“Fucking hell, Geralt. How do you manage to get yourself into that?” Eskel was flushed and happy, fully enjoying Geralt’s annoyed expression. “Why are you always stepping in the shit?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt growled. He buried his nose in a cup in embarrassment.

Eskel patted him on the shoulder. He then turned to Lambert, expectant. “What about you? You’ve always got up to some lewd business.”

Lambert fought the sneer on his lip. “Not much. Slim pickings this year.” His brothers both nodded, acknowledging the state of things. Lambert winced at the mood crash, not wanting to make them sad. “Did hook up with another Witcher though,” he blurted out.

That perked them both up. 

“Who?”

Lambert waved a hand, dismissively. “Some Bear. Got stuck upriver.” There was no way he would be able to get them off of this now that he said it.

Eskel whistled, surprised. “A Bear, huh? Was he alright?”

Lambert shrugged, took a drink. That was a question. Was it alright? Lambert didn’t know what to make of what happened with Joss that night. It was strange, and he didn’t like to look back on it too intensely.

Geralt growled low in his throat at how long his response took. “Lambert,” he said, eyes thinning as he stared him down.

Fuck, he knew they were going to be suspicious right out of the gate. “It was, eh. It was just fucking weird, is all.”

“What do you mean?” Eskel asked, much softer than Geralt’s growing rumble. 

Lambert winced. “Fuck, I don’t know. It was fun, then it wasn’t, then he left.” That was a major understatement.

Geralt wasn’t pleased. “What happened?” He snarled. Next to him Eskel’s concerned look turned murderous. Of course his brothers would jump to that conclusion. Bears weren’t friendly, and it wouldn’t be unusual for a fight between Witcher schools to break out. Preferably not in the middle of a fuck.

“He didn’t do anything like that,” Lambert said, clearing the air. He didn’t need Eskel and Geralt tracking some Bear down to castrate him. Joss had a nice dick. What a waste. “It was me,” he admitted, wrinkling his nose. “I just made it weird and he left. Going to really hurt my reputation if he runs his mouth. I’ll never get dick again.” He tried a laugh, but it sounded hollow. The other two were looking at him with a mix of confusion and curiosity. He felt like a fucking idiot. Gods-damned drink loosening his mouth. 

“Fuck, sorry, that’s a shit story,” he grumbled, standing unsteadily. He needed to retreat- this was nearly as mortifying as the actual incident with Joss. “That’ll be about all from me.”

He was only in his room for a few moments before he heard Eskel’s footsteps down the hall, purposefully loud enough to announce himself. Lambert fought the urge to yell at him to fuck off. Eskel was concerned, and Lambert owed him some of the little patience he had.

“Get in here, Esk,” he grouched, stripping out of his shirt and grabbing his nightclothes. He didn’t know if he could sleep, but fuck it, he would at least be comfortable.

The door creaked as Eskel stepped in, face neutral and calm. Lambert felt his skin prickle in agitation, but he bit down on any complaints.

“Can I help you?” He sniped.

Eskel made himself at home, sitting at the desk covered in various glass vials. “Yeah, you can start by expanding on that last bit you mentioned downstairs.”

Lambert groaned, looking at the ceiling beseechingly. “Eskel, it doesn’t matter,” he said. He shouldn’t have fucking drank- it lubricated his mouth too much, made him blather. “We fucked, I wrecked it, it got weird. The end.”

Eskel leaned forward, set his elbows on his knees. “Explain it to me.”

Lambert spun around, his teeth grinding as he held back the snarl he wanted to throw in Eskel’s face. “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”

His brother glared at him, obviously annoyed but not yet angry. He lifted his hand slowly, but Lambert knew a threat when he saw it. “Don’t make me make you, Lam.”

“Fuck,” Lambert conceded, knowing he was cornered, “you fucking nosy asshole.” He flopped onto his bed, kicking his boots off petulantly. “I just…” fuck, how could he say this, “just froze up?” That was the easiest way to describe it. He locked up. Froze like a deer and apparently did so for a long enough time for Joss to freak out.

Eskel frowned and looked contemplative. “During?”

“Mid-dicking, yeah I was a real joy to have in bed,” Lambert said. “I asked him what happened after and he said I looked vacant and stopped talking. Real sexy of me.”

“You don’t remember?” 

Eskel’s voice held something tenuous in it, almost something like pain. Lambert gave him a strange look. 

“No, not really. Just know I freaked him out. Pretty shitty, because he was a good looking guy. Nice cock,” he said flippantly. Lambert flopped back on to the bed, ignoring the stare he was getting. Eskel moved from the chair to sitting on the bed, ignoring Lambert’s growl.

“How did you feel, after?”

Lambert rolled his eyes, but told the truth. “Cold. Strange.”

A large hand laid landed on his arm, warm and solid. “Lam, that sounds like going catatonic.” When Lambert grunted questioningly, he explained. “You ever see a person who was so scared or traumatized that they don’t respond? They’re frozen in fear?”

Lambert pulled away from Eskel’s touch, snarling in response. “I wasn’t fucking afraid!” He felt like a cat, hissing and spitting. Eskel didn’t react. “I just wanted some dick!”

Eskel sighed, obviously not believing him. 

“I’m fine!” He slapped his chest, felt the urge suddenly to prove himself. What sort of weak bitch pissed themselves in fear during sex? “I’m absolutely fine.”

“Lambert,” Eskel said, soft and fucking unbearable.

“No,” he snapped, “no. I’m fine. Fuck me yourself and see.”

Eskel gawked at him. “That is not a solution.”

Lambert threw his hands up and his caution to the wind. Eskel hadn’t jumped off of his bed yet, so there was a start. “You haven’t fucked me in ages,” he complained, shucking his nightshirt off again. He knew Eskel was a bit weak for his chest, and he was not above playing dirty. He threw on a pout, just to be a dick. “What, am I ugly?”

Eskel scoffed and shoved at him when he leaned in. “You know you aren’t, fuck off.” He hated it when Lambert talked poorly about himself, and always fell for it when he fished for compliments.

“Trying to fuck off,” Lambert muttered, grinning deviously. He was unlacing his trousers now and Eskel still hadn’t stood up. “Want to, come on.”

“Lambert, this isn’t a good idea.”

That wasn’t a no. Sure, he was drunk and so was Eskel and maybe it wasn’t smart but it wasn’t like they hadn’t done this before. Before the Axii shit started, he and Eskel had quite the good time.

“It’s been forever,” he said, shucking off the last of his clothes. He didn’t miss how Eskel ran his eyes down his body, no longer plague-thin. “I want to, and I know you do.” Lambert wasn’t a moron- he wasn’t about to strip naked and proposition someone who wasn’t interested. He could smell it. “Come on, you can see it yourself, I’m fine.” He crowded into Eskel’s space, unabashedly throwing a leg over his lap. Eskel cussed under his breath, closed his hands on Lambert’s hips. 

“Plus,” he said, leaning in to press his lips just below Eskel’s ear, “I haven’t been fucked in ages.” Lambert ground down against him, shuddering as he felt the hot line of Eskel’s hardening prick. “Need it. You like takin’ care of me, so take care of me.”

“Fuck, Lam,” Eskel cursed, running his hands up his naked back. “Okay,” he muttered, “yeah, okay.”

In spite of his hesitation, Eskel got naked surprisingly fast. No armor was needed for lounging about the keep, so comfortable tunics and woolens were the preferred garb. Lambert always liked leaning back and watching Eskel strip. The man was built like a bear- huge arms, barrel chest and thick thighs. Lambert loved that he could barely get his arms around him. All that bulk and power made him feel small, almost like a normal human.

He purred as Eskel finally got his mouth on him, predictably going to his chest: adoring the muscle of his pecs and biting at his nipple. Lambert wriggled under him, shamelessly rutting his cock up against Eskel’s stomach. His brother hummed happily against his chest, pressing his weight down against him. Lambert pulled at him, budging him up so he could steal a kiss, and Eskel allowed it, shifting to align their bodies.

There was a gorgeous, hot prick pressed to the hollow of Lambert’s hip, and he shivered in excitement, Just feeling that thick cock had him scrambling to flip them over. A year was way too long to go without Eskel’s exceptional cock, and Lambert was just realizing how hungry he was. Once he managed to move the titan of a man, Lambert dove between firm thighs and sucked the head of Eskel’s cock into his mouth. The familiar smell and taste had him groaning, his eyelids fluttering. Fuck, it’d been so long. He greedily tried to take more, and gagged for his efforts.

“Slow down, Lam,” Eskel muttered, his fingers mussing Lambert’s hair. 

He tried to growl in response, but it came out more of a whine. Fucking pathetic. Gods, he was a mess. The cock in his mouth twitched in response, so Eskel seemed to love it. Lambert got his hand around the thick shaft and stroked him, sucking filthily on the head. The small gag had him drooling like a dog, and he used the added slick to help smooth his palm over the tight, hot flesh. 

“Oh,” Eskel sighed, fingers digging into his scalp a little harder, “Lambert, your fucking mouth.”

Normally, that was a chastisement. Lambert did have a notoriously filthy mouth, but this was far from it. Eskel shifted under him, fighting hard not to fuck up into the wet heat, and Lambert did his best to take him down again. 

Slower did work better, and he managed to get Eskel to the back of his throat before his jaw twinged in pain. Eskel’s cock was almost too big to suck, now- hard to the point where he was wide enough across to scrape molars. Fucking monster of a prick, gods he loved it.

He was pulled off before long, Eskel dragging him up to lick at his spit-smeared mouth, moving him back to lay down.

“What do you want, Lam?”

Lambert spread his legs, not one for shame. “I fucking told you, didn’t I? Wanna get fucked. Want you to fuck me. Get in here.”

Eskel laughed at him, leaning over to rifle through the basket at the bedside. He knew Lambert was a deviant. He always had slick in his room. “Going to take a bit to get me in there, pup. If you’ve only been fucked once this past year you’re going to need some time.”

Lambert wiggled, impatient, and shoved his own hand between his legs, trying to get a finger in himself dry. Eskel had his wrist in an instant and shot him a warning look. He didn’t like Lambert’s recklessness with his body.

“You think I just jerk my cock when I get off?” Lambert asked, trying to stay still as Eskel scooped some slick out of the tin. “You don’t think I get my fingers in there? Maybe a nicely whittled toy?”

“Was that what you were carving last year?” Eskel teased, his fingertips finally warm and wet against his hole. “You were very shy about what you were working on. I hope you lacquered it.”

“Of course I fucking lacquered it,” Lambert said, annoyed that there was barely a fingertip in him and trying to push down on it. “You think I want splinters in my ass?”

“No, I know what you want in your ass, Lambert.” Eskel gave in and pushed, and two gloriously thick fingers speared him open. Lambert moaned in appreciation and finally stilled as they moved in him. “You just have to wait a bit until I’m ready.”

“Fuck, thank you,” he sighed, trying to relax as quickly as possible. Eskel was overly attentive when it came to preparations, and not one to rush. It was useless for Lambert to fight him on it, so working with him was the only way to get what he wanted. 

Two fingers became three, and Lambert let his appreciation be known. Eskel was solid and heavy at his side, one hand between his legs and one propping him up, the palm of his hand on the nape of Lambert’s neck. It was perfect, just what he needed. Lambert shot him a grin as he rocked himself down on the fingers inside of him.

“See? Perfectly fine.”

Eskel rolled his eyes and kissed him again, grumbling as Lambert bit at his lips. He felt hot all over and needy, a frantic mix. He was in his room, safe, with someone who took care of him. Everything was fine.

Allowing himself to melt a bit into the mattress convinced Eskel he was ready, and Lambert all too enthusiastically clamped his legs around his waist as he knelt in between them.

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself,” Eskel warned, the slick head of his cock barely prodding his hole. Lambert scoffed but stayed still, letting Eskel take control. There was no way his brother would allow Lambert to shove himself down onto his cock after such a long absence. 

The stretch was terrific, enough to make Lambert’s mouth fall open and his eyes roll. Fuck, Eskel was bigger than any prick he’d ever come across, even other Witchers. He moved in the tiniest thrusts, barely gaining ground as he worked his way in, and Lambert fisted the sheets and panted as he took it.

“That’s it, good boy,” Eskel whispered, his eyes intensely focused on where they met. Lambert shuddered, fuck, that was such an embarrassing weakness of his, and Eskel knew it. He lapped up praise like an abused hound. 

By the time Eskel’s hips were flush to his ass, Lambert’s chest was heaving. Fuck, he was so full- and the stretch and burn of it was on the good side of painful. Eskel wouldn’t move until he felt him loosen up. The man’s control was impeccable. 

Lambert’s control was nonexistent. “Come on, Esk, come on,” he panted, trying to lift himself a bare inch off of his cock. Eskel gave in only slightly, his thrusts slow and measured. It wasn’t enough, not by a long shot.

He flexed and pulled with his legs, and Eskel grunted and quickened the pace. Lambert sighed, took what he was given, pushing back against it. The stretch wasn’t as noticeable, and the angle was good. Lambert tried to be satisfied with it.

It was just that something was off. Something was wrong. It felt good, it did, but there was a strange coil of tension in his chest. Eskel was quiet, observing him as if he was about to fall apart, as if he was a puzzle instead of his partner, and it wasn’t right. It was all wrong. Lambert wasn’t doing something right, otherwise Eskel would never look at him like that. He felt his cock soften and he winced, embarrassed.

He shivered, turning his head to the side, pressing one cheek to the mattress. He closed his eyes tight, threw his arm over his face to hide. It was okay, he was okay, but when he drew a breath it was ragged. Eskel stopped moving.

“Lambert?” He was worried, alarmed even. Fuck, Lambert ruined everything. “What’s wrong?” A warm hand grasped his arm, lifting it away. Lambert couldn’t open his eyes, he felt cold. Eskel pulled out, moving from between his legs. Lambert swallowed harshly. He was such a fuck up. 

He didn’t remember much of the next few minutes, but when he came to Eskel was laying next to him, his hands stroking Lambert’s chest and neck. There was a blanket thrown over them both.

“You’re alright,” Eskel muttered into his skin, sounding shaken. “It’s okay, Lam.” He must have sensed the change in his breathing or pace of his heart, because Eskel shifted, lifting his head to try to look at him. “Are you with me?”

Now that he was, Lambert felt anger bubble up in his throat and a strange sting in his eyes. A snarl was at his lips and he rolled away from Eskel’s warmth, pressing his face into the bedding. “Get out,” he seethed, curling into himself.

He could smell Eskel’s distress, which just made it so much worse. “What did I do? Did I hurt you?”

Stupid, noble fucking Eskel.

“No.” Lambert choked out. He was angry, but not at Eskel. He couldn’t let him think he was responsible for this. “You were just right; this was a bad idea.”

He heard Eskel swallow, felt his hands hover over him, but not touch. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“You didn’t do anything, Eskel!” Lambert snapped. “It's not you. I’m the broken bastard that can’t even-” He broke off, pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes to quell the burning. 

“Do you know what it was? What set it off?” Eskel wasn’t getting up, and Lambert had the suspicion that there was no way he was going to leave tonight at all. 

“No,” Lambert said, only lying a little. He had an idea, but it was fucking stupid. He was just a useless man, unable to even take a fucking dick like a common whore. He didn’t know if Eskel believed him or not, but he didn’t question further. 

“I’m staying here,” Eskel said, settling back down and stealing some of the blankets. He didn’t touch Lambert again, but he could still feel the weight and warmth of him across the bed. “Do you want to be put to sleep?”

Lambert wanted to say no. He’d just ruined their night, worried the hell out of his brother and been a prick to him. He didn’t need to be asking for favors, but he knew that if he didn’t, if Eskel stayed the night- Lambert would wake him with either his nightmares or his restlessness. 

He turned over slowly, tried to school his face into something more neutral. From the way his eyes burned, he knew they were red and watery. Too bad you needed eye-contact to perform an Axii. 

Eskel reached out to cast, but paused and let his hand fall to touch Lambert’s cheek. The contact was brief, not even enough for Lambert to complain about, and then the Axii was cast. He sighed as his mind was lightened, unburdened by the anger and embarrassment and confusion.

“Go to sleep,” Eskel whispered, “and have no dreams.”

Lambert blinked and settled down. “Thanks,” he whispered, nestling down. He saw Eskel’s lips tic in a small smile as his eyes closed. As he drifted off into blessed dark, Lambert felt strong arms pull him closer, and warm breath against his forehead.

* * *

  
  


Lambert gave it a whole week of awkward avoidance and long silence before he pestered Eskel about their failed tryst again. His brother was working in the armory, tooling some new leather pauldrons. Lambert fiddled around in the room behind him, prodding at old projects and knocking things around. He heard Eskel sigh in irritation, as he finally turned to look at him. 

“So,” Lambert said, casually crossing his arms and leaning against a table.

Eskel looked unamused. “So?”

Best to go at these things headfirst. “I want to try it again.”

If anything, Eskel looked even more unamused. “Absolutely not.”

“Okay, listen,” Lambert said, “I creeped you out last time. Sorry. Couldn’t have been fun to fuck a corpse…”

Eskel cut him off, voice clipped. “Lambert, enough. Shut up,” he snapped, setting a tool a little too hard on the work table. “You have no idea why I’m telling you no, do you?”

He shrugged, gestured vaguely. “Because it was weird?”

Eskel closed his eyes, most likely to pray for patience. Normally, Lambert would congratulate himself on that. “You’re insisting on hurting yourself, that’s why. You think it’ll be different?”

“I mean, maybe?” Lambert said. “And you didn’t hurt me.” 

Eskel scowled at him. “If a formula for a potion ends up exploding in your face twice in a row- would you make it again?”

That was obvious. “No.”

“Why?”

“Because something’s wrong with the formula.” Lambert knew what he was saying, but it wasn’t the same thing, not at all. “Look, it was you not some random Bear, it made no sense why I’d… get all weird again.”

That didn’t seem to sway his brother at all. “No.” 

Lambert groaned. “What if I… what if you let me control it? Like let me do the work?” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. “I don’t think I could freeze up bouncing on your dick.”

Eskel wasn’t falling for it, and shook his head. “No,” he said firmly, “don’t you get it? It’s not-”

“Yeah, I get it,” Lambert barked, suddenly furious. Embarrassment welled up inside of him, made him defensive. Being rejected by the one person he needed to accept him, it was painful. “I get that I’m ruined. Can’t even keep my cock up when fucking whores.” Shit, he hadn’t meant to spill that detail. “I can’t even get fucked, can’t even be a warm hole.” His shame clawed at the inside of his ribs. Pulling a breath hurt. “I get it. I’m too fucking aware, Eskel.”

“Stop it,” Eskel’s face was twisted into some mutation of pity and worry, and it made Lambert want to lash out.

“Fine. I’ll just ask Geralt,” he said, flippant. “I’m sure he’s up to earn back some crowns from last week’s game.” Eskel’s expression hardened, and Lambert just couldn’t stop pushing. “I know I’m an ugly bastard, but even pretty boy will slum it for some coin. What do you think it will take? Fifty? I can give him a nice fat tip if he gives me his—”

He wanted the punch, he was nearly begging for it. Something to shut him up, to put him out of his misery. Lambert didn’t even try to block, he just moved with the hit, relieved with the blossom of pain as knuckles bruised his cheek. He didn’t fall, however, because Eskel was there, catching him and wrenching him back like a rag doll. Large, hot palms closed on both sides of his face and held him in their grip, letting the ache of the hit resonate between them. Eskel shook him, leaning in close. 

“Stop it, Lam,” he said, “stop.” 

It was so easy to be angry, even to be embarrassed, but to be lost? He hated it. He hated that he didn’t know why he froze up, why he was biting and desperate and so alone, a broken animal, snapping at a kind hand.

He tried to fight the scowl, but he felt his face crumple and his eyes water. It was so stupid. He shouldn't be like this. 

“What’s wrong with me, Esk?”

It didn’t matter who leaned into who, but Lambert allowed the hug, hiding in his brother’s larger frame. He indulged until the ache lessened, until his eyes no longer threatened him with damning tears.

Eskel didn’t say anything as Lambert retreated. He didn’t have an answer.

* * *

Lambert went without sleep for the three following days, and was feeling it. He felt exhausted and antsy, his skin felt too tight and his reflexes were muddled. He prowled the keep at night, and wasn’t bothered. He either failed to alert Geralt or his brother had given up on taming Lambert. The thought didn’t help settle his nerves. 

When he was finally intercepted in the early hours of the morning, it was Eskel, not Geralt, who drew him in.

He was waiting in the main hall, playing with the embers. Eskel must have remembered Lambert’s patrol pattern, and knew that he cut across the hall on his way to the second tower. The patrol was monotonous and repetitive and soothing, and Lambert did it barely conscious.

Eskel cleared his throat and sat back in the ancient lounge in front of the fire, gesturing for Lambert to come over. He slunk in and flopped unceremoniously, hiding the strange tension he felt. Finally, they would let him in on what they were mulling over the past few days. 

“Spill it,” he grumbled, pulling a fur over his lap. The first leg of his patrol had been particularly chilly.

“Alright,” Eskel agreed, shooting a quick flash of Igni at the last of the embers, making them glow hot. Lambert fought a small smile. Eskel, always taking care of him.

“I’ve decided I am willing to try again, but with some conditions.” He sat back, let their shoulders touch. 

Lambert did smile at that. “Mm, I love conditional sex.”

Eskel didn’t laugh, and Lambert’s stomach tightened in preparation. “Geralt’s coming.”

It certainly wasn’t what he expected to hear. The serious tone had fooled him into thinking Eskel had some grave conditions to lay out to ever touch him again. But this? Two dicks for the price of one? “That’s a bonus, not a condition,” Lambert said, stretching under the warmth of the fur and fire. Another thought pulled him up short. “Wait, did you tell him about this?” He knew Geralt and Eskel were sides of the same coin, but it was a bit alarming to know his failure as a fuck was being aired out in Kaer Morhen.

Eskel shook his head. “He overheard us in the armory and brought it up himself.” Ugh, then Geralt definitely heard Lambert say he’d pay him money to fuck. If he wasn’t such a sad sack of shit he would be surprised he hadn’t been mocked within an inch of his life. 

“That’s one condition,” Eskel said.

“Fucking accepted.” That was easy, not a problem. “Is he going to creep or participate?” Lambert asked. And, just to be an asshole, continued with, “Do I have to pay him?”

Eskel swatted his shoulder. “Shut up.” He put up two fingers, and stared Lambert down. “There is a second condition,” he said, his gaze intent on Lambert’s face. Eskel’s eyes were cast orange in the low light. Ah, here was the more serious condition he’d been expecting. “We are using Axii on you.”

Lambert jolted, confused. “What?”

Eskel held his hand up as an attempt to pacify him. Unfortunately, being Eskel, it was more like a threat. “Lambert, something set you off last time. You either don’t know what it was or you won’t tell me,” his voice wasn’t judgemental or scolding. It was warm. It made Lambert want to shrink away. “Either way, Axii will help keep you from having another… spell.”

Yeah, it certainly would. “Eskel. Your Axii hits like a rock to the head. It will literally make me into a puppet.” Lambert shook his head- this was stupid. There was no way he was going to be able to be even remotely conscious with Eskel casting on him. “Also,” he added, “how are you going to hold that mid-fuck?” Even for the magical wonder witcher, that was a task.

“I won’t be the caster,” Eskel said. “That’s Geralt’s job. His Axii is nowhere near mine, and he said you’ve been very much yourself even under his sign.” Lambert shrugged, but it was true; while Eskel’s Axii was like a punch to the face, Geralt’s was more a tweak on the nose. He could break out of it if he needed to, and even inside of it he felt less out of control. 

Eskel continued. “Geralt will be there to cast it when you start needing it, and let it go when we think you’re calm enough.”

Lambert sighed and dropped his head back onto the lounge, staring up at the towering dark of the ceiling. This was fucking embarrassing, but he had asked to try again. This was Eskel trying in a way that made him comfortable, and he couldn’t be pissed at that, and fucking Geralt- butting in and inviting himself to monitor the whole thing. What a sad sack of shit was Lambert to summon that act of pity from the great White Wolf?

He winced and rubbed his hand over his face, biting back the surge of shame. At least they weren’t to the point of cutting his head off, yet. 

“Fine,” he groused, not bothering to look over at Eskel. “I accept your pity fuck. When are we doing this?”

A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, slid up to cup the back of his neck and turn his head towards Eskel. 

“This is not pity,” he said, low and slow, making his words clear. Lambert hated that it made him shudder, hated more that Eskel felt it under his fingers. “I like our time together, and I would like it back. Do you want that, too?”

Lambert gnawed his cheek and gave a quick nod. He felt warm and a bit surprised. Eskel hadn’t admitted something like that before. 

“Good. Then we work on it.” The fingers on the back of his neck began to rub at the painful tension there, and Lambert wanted to melt. “I don’t want to harm you again, so we need to try something different.”

“You didn’t hurt me.” It was important he knew that. Sweet, strong Eskel- always thinking he was the one to cause the problem. Lambert was the mess, the volatile, broken thing that poisoned everything he touched. 

Eskel shook his head. “Something did, Lam, so let’s find it and kill it.”

Lambert chuckled, going limp under the firm hand and the seeping warmth of the fire and fur. “If it was only as easy as killing monsters, huh?”

Eskel snorted, and pulled him in with a hand around his shoulder, laying down on the couch and forcing Lambert to follow suit.

“What, are we sleeping now?”

“You haven’t slept in days.”

Well, that was the truth. Eskel shifted about and Lambert found himself laying with his head on the barrel of his chest, the steady pulse of Eskel’s heart pressed to his temple. He was so warm. 

Lambert grumbled and fidgeted to get his legs comfortable and pulled the fur up to cover them. Eskel’s hand was still on him, this time running his nails through Lambert’s hair. He really needed to wash it, but Eskel hardly seemed to care. 

“Need me to put you down?”

Lambert felt his eyelids grow heavy and rubbed his cheek on the soft linen of Eskel’s shirt. “No,” he sighed, already feeling drowsy, “not this time.”

* * *

  
  


Saying they were going to have monitored sex and the actually having it were two separate issues. Eskel refused to do it drunk, so a night of wine and shine wasn’t going to lead to the bedroom. It was just that alcohol made the whole thing so much easier, and Lambert was getting blue balled waiting on Eskel. He hadn’t beaten off since their failed encounter, too frightened to see if he couldn’t even get himself off, so his sex drive was aching.

In the end, he just did what he normally did, and blurted it out.

“Wanna fuck me tonight?” He asked, helping Eskel shovel out the stables after a storm. Geralt was within listening distance, so it was like asking the two of them.

“You feel up to it?” Eskel shot him a look, then glanced to Geralt, who was paying attention.

Lambert rolled his eyes. “Wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“Okay, after Vesemir turns in.” The old man went to sleep at 9 every night. He was a fucking sundial with his regularity. 

“Sure. Your room?”

Eskel nodded, scooping up a full shovel of snow. “That means no drinking tonight, Lambert. Stay sober.”

The young wolf rolled his eyes, but agreed. “Yes sir. Fuck, I hope it isn’t like this in bed. I really won’t stay hard.”

Eskel didn’t laugh at the joke and continued working. Across the courtyard, Geralt studied him like a puzzle.

Fuck, this was going to be a mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, just creeping. What a weirdo.


	3. Beloved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Broken doesn’t mean it’s trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is literally just really awkward porn and Lambert being forced to talk.

* * *

  
Even though Lambert tried to stay positive, it was a bit awkward to start stripping with Eskel smelling like nerves and Geralt just sitting there, gravely serious. He desperately wanted to make a joke that he was sorry that they’d gotten such an ugly whore for the night -this was all their coin could afford, but he knew Eskel would stop their tryst the second he finished saying it. 

“You going to take anything off, Eskel, or is this a one man show?” He grumbled, kicking his pants across the room. He felt ridiculous.

“Sorry,” Eskel muttered, pulling at his shirt. “Just trying to decide what to do.”

“Well,” Lambert snarked, hands on his hips, “the plan is that you fuck me and Geralt zaps me if I freak out.” He gestured vaguely at Geralt, who was sitting fully clothed in a chair by the bed. “I really don’t know what he is getting out of this, but I am hoping for an orgasm.”

Geralt frowned at Lambert, almost looking hurt. Well, that was weird. 

“Okay,” Eskel was down to his braies now, and Lambert’s interest was creeping higher. Fuck, he was a good looking man. “Want to lay back? I can suck your cock.”

Normally, an offer like that would make him jump on the bed, but Lambert only felt a vague twinge of interest. “Eh, maybe let me try you again?” He offered, eyeing Eskel’s soft prick as he took off his undergarments. “I like doing that.”

Eskel bit his lip and nodded, and a lovely whiff of arousal reached Lambert’s nose. There. That was better. He shuffled up the bed to where Eskel sat leaning against the headboard, and worked his way between the man’s legs. The position helped him forget the scrutiny he was under: he was surrounded by muscle and face to face with a lovely cock. Eskel was still soft, which opened the door for something that Lambert loved: feeling him grow in his mouth. 

He got to work immediately, already drooling at the thought of Eskel’s hard cock stretching his lips and gagging him. He held his cock in his mouth, tenderly lapping and sucking at him, humming happily as he felt Eskel’s slow pulse thrum against his tongue. Strong fingers pet his hair and Eskel murmured soft praises as he worked him over. 

Soon, the cock in his mouth firmed up enough for him to bob on it, sucking noisily as it grew. Eskel’s cock was non-threatening when soft, but an absolute weapon hard. Lambert loved drawing that out. 

He was focused with such single-mindedness that he barely noticed Eskel asking him something, and had to be nudged off of his prick with a gentle hand. 

“What?” He asked blearily, blinking up at Eskel. A thumb swept across his chin, trying to rub the saliva off of his beard. 

“As much as I love that, I want to focus on you, Lambert.”

The young wolf grunted and shrugged, but Eskel shifted them to lay Lambert down. His massive cock rubbed against his hip, wet and gloriously hard. Lambert grinned and squirmed back against him. 

“Let me take care of you, alright?” Eskel said, moving to palm at Lambert’s prick. He wasn’t hard, but he wasn’t limp, either. A few smooth pulls and Eskel’s lips on his neck and chest helped. 

“Do you want me inside you, like before?” Eskel’s fingers moved to rub gently over Lambert’s hole, making him shiver. 

“Yeah,” he said, spreading his legs further. “Yeah I want you to fuck me again, Esk.”

Eskel groaned against his collarbone and nodded, making to get off and grab lubrication. A bottle hit the bed next to Lambert’s hip, helpfully tossed by Geralt.

Oh fuck, Geralt was still in the room. 

Lambert didn’t want to turn and look at him, but he did- because fuck was it weird to have an audience member. Geralt was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, intently inspecting the situation before him. Their gazes locked just as Eskel slid a finger inside, and Lambert moaned and screwed his eyes shut. Fuck, that was unexpected.

“Lambert,” Geralt said, low and gentle. “You okay?”

He winced and nodded, tried to push down insistently. He could sense Eskel pause above him. “Lam,” he said, pressing a kiss to his chest, “talk, please.”

Fuck, he didn’t want Geralt casting on him so early just because he was feeling embarassed. “It’s just weird, is all,” he said, forcing his eyes to open. “Being watched like an experiment.”

“You’re not an experiment,” Geralt growled, frown returning.

Lambert scoffed, rolling his eyes at Geralt. “You’re staring at me like I am some brew about to boil over. It’s not exactly conducive to feeling sexy.”

Now it was Geralt’s turn to huff, but instead of complaining, he leaned back, blatantly showing his lap. There was a very stiff cock trapped in his trousers.

“You think I am disinterested then you need to work on your observation skills, Lambert. You think I would offer to do this if I didn’t want to?”

Lambert stared at Geralt’s cock, blinking in surprise. He drew a deep breath and realized he could smell his arousal as well, a different scent than his own or Eskel’s, but just as appealing. 

“Oh,” Lambert said, feeling blood rush back into his prick. Geralt wasn’t sitting there to be a strange referee, he was also enjoying the show. “I- um— alright then, carry on.”

Eskel laughed and buried his face in Lambert’s chest hair, shaking in mirth. “You’re so stupid sometimes,” he said between chuckles, “good thing you’re cute.”

Lambert grumbled and shoved at him. “You going to do something with that finger up my ass, or are we going to tease me all night?”

“No, no teasing,” Eskel said, biting at a nipple. Lambert gasped and spread his legs wider as another finger teased his rim. “Going to give you what you need, Lam.”

Eskel’s low purr had him arching, pushing his chest up to the attentive mouth and groaning as two fingers fucked him open. He hadn’t been kissed, yet- but Eskel’s mouth was busy leaving stinging love bites on his pecs, so he wasn’t about to complain.

When three fingers finally stretched his hole, Lambert groaned and chanced another glance to their audience. Geralt was watching with lidded eyes, his mouth slightly open. He was fixated on where Eskel was thrusting into Lambert, but, sensing he was being looked at, Geralt turned to him again. 

Lambert made a soft noise and watched Geralt’s pupils dilate. 

“I don’t think I am being distracting enough for you,” Eskel said, and he crooked his fingers wickedly. Sparks of pleasure rippled up Lambert’s spine, and he cried out, grabbing at Eskel’s shoulders.

“Fuck!” He ground his hips down against the pressure. “Get in me already.” 

“Absolutely.” Eskel drew his fingers out and Lambert grunted unhappily at the loss. “Get on your knees, Lam.”

He turned over quickly, feeling his stomach swoop at the motion. It was easier like this, in this position. Geralt could see him clearly, so it made sense. Eskel shuffled up behind him, his thick thighs spreading Lambert’s wider. A thumb caught against his rim, spreading him open. The hot head of Eskel’s cock pressed to his hole, slick and insistent. 

“Okay?” Eskel asked, rubbing against him.

Lambert nodded. He needed the stretch and burn, he needed to feel something inside of himself. His body was buzzing with warmth and arousal, and he wanted to feel Eskel use him, feel Geralt watch.

“Want to hear it, Lam,” Eskel said, dragging his wet cockhead obscenely over his hole. Lambert growled and tried to shove back. He hated being teased. 

“Fuck me,” he snapped, trying to glare back at Eskel. “Want you to fuck me. Do I need to beg?”

Eskel answered him by pressing in, stretching Lambert over his thick cock. The young wolf panted thinly as he was impaled, writhing back against the push, making his body adjust. Eskel was huge, and Lambert loved feeling the strain of taking him. It was a good burn, a welcome ache.

Lambert’s egging must have made Eskel more enthusiastic, because the bear of a man began fucking his way deeper, thrusting into him with firm snaps of his hips. The hard movements had Lambert’s arms shaking, strong enough to push back against Eskel, but his palms were slipping on the bedding. Eskel grabbed Lambert about the hips and hauled him back flush. Lambert’s grip gave and he was down on his elbows, groaning at each firm thrust into his body. 

Besides the crude sounds of fucking and his pants and grunts, the room was quiet. Eskel normally wasn’t this quiet in bed- often whispering sweet, filthy nothings to Lambert as he took his cock. The absence of it was strange.

Eskel changed position and Lambert muffled a yelp into the bedding. Fuck, why did he feel so big, now? He breathed deep, trying to relax into it. He liked the stretch, most times- liked the feeling of being opened and taken. He usually loved this position, and this was good, it was just…

He was face down, taking cock like an animal. He couldn’t see Eskel, and Eskel hadn’t kissed him. Eskel was quiet and dutiful and doing what he was told, fucking Lambert like he asked. 

And Lambert didn’t like it.

Fuck, he was ruining it again. 

Lambert shifted, getting his arms under him so he could at least try to get his face up. They shook. Eskel slowed down to some short thrusts, waiting for the vice of Lambert’s body to let up. The young wolf shivered as Eskel’s cock dragged an inch out of him, whimpered as it pressed back in. It didn’t hurt. He wasn’t being hurt, but—

He felt so cold.

There was a noise, shuffling, and then a warm palm cupped his chin, turned his head to the side. Geralt stroked his cheek and held his other hand up, sign at the ready. 

Everything was suddenly covered in a haze. It wasn’t blinding, and he was still aware, but the strange, creeping cold was forced to retreat. Lambert drew a shaky breath, and the whole room paused and waited.

“Tell us what’s happening,” Geralt said. “Are you being hurt?”

Lambert shook his head, then felt the impulse to say it aloud. “No. No I’m not being hurt.”

Eskel made a strained noise and made to pull out. A bolt of panic made Lambert jerk, try to shove back against him. “No, no no no,” he said. “Don’t go. Don’t stop. I want it. I want it.”

Geralt stroked a palm down Lambert’s arm. It felt nice. Eskel stopped moving. “Okay. Something is wrong, though.” Lambert nodded. “Tell us what it is.”

“Too cold,” he blurted out. He felt the coil of shame and embarrassment in his belly. He was so weak, but Geralt wanted him to say it. Eskel wanted him to say it. It needed to be said. “It feels too cold. Like you don’t care.”

Eskel immediately bent down, draping his body over Lambert’s. Huge arms wrapped around his waist and gently lifted him so he was sitting up, embraced. He sighed happily. Fuck, that felt better. Was Eskel shaking?

Geralt moved to sitting on the bed in front of him, eyes intense. He looked so concerned, like he did when Lambert fell from the roof repairs one winter and broke his leg. “Tell me more,” he said.

He wanted to shove the words away, but they were being pulled out, and he knew he shouldn’t fight them. Draw out the poison, clean the wound. “Feels bad,” Lambert said. “Feels like I’m nobody.”

Eskel whimpered, pressing his face into Lambert’s neck. Geralt shifted closer, his hand petting his cheek. “How can we help?”

He didn’t know what to say, so he leaned into their touch. It was nice. 

“Lam, tell us, please,” Eskel said, pressing a kiss to his neck. But, oh fuck, his cock was nearly soft, slipping out of Lambert. He hated it. He hated that he caused that.

“Fuck me,” he pleaded, trying to move in Eskel’s grip. The bigger witcher had him tight, which only made him struggle harder. The words poured out as the panic set in. “Please, I’m good like this. I’m useful. Don’t stop.” Why did Geralt look so shocked, why was Eskel gasping into his neck? He did this all wrong, he ruined it again. “I’m sorry, please don’t stop. I can be useful. I can give you something. Don’t stop.”

Geralt’s hand flicked again, and the Axii was stronger, wrapping him. “Lambert, calm down.”

His heart slowed and his breath deepened, but the need didn’t abate. He tried to shift in Eskel’s grip, to reach back and draw his cock back into him. Geralt stopped him, drew in closer. 

“Tell us what you need,” he said, stressing the last word. What he needed. Not wanted. Needed.

Lambert wriggled. “Let me go,” he gasped, and Eskel relented immediately. Lambert turned, shifted to the side to see them both. Eskel’s eyes looked watery, and that wasn’t right at all. “Need a kiss,” Lambert said, reaching for him. 

He couldn’t tell which one of them whimpered in the contact, but Lambert tried to chase the noise away, kissing desperately, pulling at Eskel. He wanted to be held, to be kissed, and pulled away enough to mutter the requests aloud like Geralt told him to. Eskel enfolded him, and an extra set of hands ran through his hair, settled on his back. 

Lambert looked over at Geralt, who was so near, propping him up and watching. A sweat had broken out over his brow at the effort to hold the sign. He was trying so hard to keep it steady, to help. He looked so worried. 

“Wanna kiss you, too.” Lambert blurted out.

Geralt’s face softened, and it was nice to see. They’d never kissed before, but Geralt didn’t let that slow him down. He leaned in and pressed their mouths together. Lambert sighed in relief and cupped Geralt’s jaw.

“Thank you,” he muttered, trying not to nuzzle him too intently as Geralt pulled away. It was already so strange, so intense. They’d both been so kind to him and it hurt to know they got nothing in return. He wanted to give them something, but he just took.

Eskel was holding Lambert close, shifted to lay them down. Geralt was on Lambert’s other side, propped up on his elbow, watching.

Amber eyes searched Lambert’s face, and Geralt shook his head, unsatisfied. “I feel you fighting it, Lambert. There’s more. Say what you need to say.”

He didn’t want to- it was too much. Greedy, unwanted. Geralt’s hand was shaking from how hard he pushed the Axii, and light flared in his palm. Lambert felt it wrench the words free in him. It would hurt to say, but he needed to. They needed to hear it. They wanted it. 

He closed his eyes as the deluge released. “I love you both,” he sobbed, body jerking at the force it fell out of him. “Please love me, please.” They were holding him between them, and he was gutting himself, gasping out the words. “I’m so ruined, but I want to stay. I want to be here. I want to give things to you, but I’m empty.”

Eskel scrambled at his side, grabbed at Lambert and was kissing him frantically, his breath high and tight. Geralt sounded strained, like he’d been punched in the gut. 

“We do love you,” he said.

Eskel had Lambert’s face in his hands, forcing them to look at one another. Lambert’s vision was swimming. “I love you,” Eskel growled, low and sure. It sounded like a demand. “Lam, I love you. Of course I love you. Please believe me.”

It struck him like an arrow in the gut, and Lambert keened, trying to touch them both. The Axii was still there, opening him up, pulling out the doubt and fear that was so deeply wedged against his heart. “Fuck, please, more,” he sobbed. “I’m empty.”

Geralt was kissing his brow, muttering against it. “We love you, Lam,” he said. “We love you. Do you understand?” He sounded hurt and confused, but kept pressing kisses to Lambert’s brow, his scars, his cheek. 

The Axii finally failed, sputtered out of Geralt’s control and relented.

Lambert shuddered and gasped, but Geralt wasn’t done. The white wolf stared at him, bereft. “Do you understand?”

His mind was clear, but the question was still there. Did he understand that they loved him? Did he know? Eskel was half over him, desperately soothing and petting him, and Geralt was telling him, right to his face. Geralt never just said these things, but he was now, of his own free will. 

“You love me,” Lambert said, blinking up at them. It was supposed to be a question, but it felt more like the answer. 

“Yes,” Eskel said, and then it was Geralt’s turn to kiss him. It was much more gentle than Eskel’s. Lambert, hysterically, wanted to laugh at the absurdity of this being their second kiss, ever. Instead, he just savored it.

He didn’t get much of a break once Geralt pulled away, because Eskel was back, a thumb on Lambert’s jaw, pushing his mouth open. It was like he was trying to pour his adoration into him with molten kisses. Lambert moaned under the attention. 

He was belatedly aware that he was hard. Well, what the fuck? Apparently love confessions got him riled. He might need to lean into that.

“I love you, too,” he said, volunteering the information instead of having it ripped free. It felt good, warm. He smiled. His eyes were still wet, but it was fine. They wouldn’t think it was weak. “How can I not love you?” He made sure to look at them both- Eskel’s determined face, Geralt’s mildly confused. “I’m such a burden, but you help me anyway.”

“You’re not a burden,” they growled together, nearly knocking their heads together as they leaned down to kiss him. Lambert laughed as they found a compromise; Geralt at his lips, Eskel at his neck.

Oh, that felt very nice. 

He had a hand free for both of them and pet at Geralt gently, coaxing him closer. His other palm simply grabbed Eskel by the cock.

“Would it be weird to keep fucking now?” He asked when his mouth was free. Geralt failed to hold back a laugh, and snorted loudly. Eskel bit his neck, hard. 

“Lambert,” he said, “you nearly gave me a fucking heart attack.” Despite that, Eskel’s cock wasn’t exactly acting like it had come close to death. 

“Yeah, and I gutted myself to the only two people who care about me, but you don’t see me complaining.” Geralt had his face hidden in Lambert’s neck, shaking with laughter. Eskel slapped him for being unhelpful, but didn’t stop Lambert’s groping.

“Is this a good idea?” He asked, frowning.

Lambert swallowed, forcing the cocksure smile off of his face. “Hey,” he whispered. Eskel blinked at him. “Sorry I scared you. Sorry it took that to get it out of me.” He winced. It really was a fucking dramatic way to admit you needed affection during sex. “But I do love you, and I want to, you know, physically do that, too? We don’t have to, but I—”

Eskel cut him off with a kiss. “We can do that. We can definitely do that. Geralt? You okay there?”

Geralt lifted his head. He looked slightly dazed. Poor guy. He was just expecting to see some perverts fuck, not get some random love confession blurted at him. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” he mumbled.

Lambert nudged him and grinned cheekily. “Hey, wanna fuck?”

Geralt’s face became utterly impassive. “Cost you fifty crowns.”

Lambert gasped in mock offense. “I don’t get a discount? Pretty boy, where is this love you promised?”

“That is the discount,” Geralt said, poking Lambert in the chest. “I cannot believe you told Eskel you would pay me to fuck you.”

He cringed. It was especially unkind considering that Geralt had overheard it. “Sorry,” he said. “I was being an asshole. Should I have priced you higher?”

This time it was Eskel’s turn to swat him. “Stop talking like that if you want to get laid.” Geralt leaned down to bite Lambert right on his pec, and rather hard at that. He yelped, but still pushed his chest up for more.

“Fucking brat,” Geralt mumbled, soothing the nip with his tongue. “Eskel, hurry up and fuck him. I want to hear some nicer noises.”

Eskel took to the encouragement and settled himself between Lambert’s legs, pushing his thighs apart and up. Geralt grabbed one leg behind the knee, just to be helpful. The position was open and vulnerable, Lambert on his back, held up for Eskel’s blatant examination. The other witcher licked his lips and ran a thumb over Lambert’s hole and perineum. He reopened the oil to drizzle it obscenely right into his ass.

The feeling of the slick, cool oil dribbling into his semi-relaxed hole had Lambert tossing his head back and swallowing dryly. Geralt was propping himself up further to watch as Eskel rubbed the length of his cock over the cleft of his ass, the fat head of it nudging the underside of his balls. 

“Holy shit,” Geralt muttered. Eskel chuckled in response.

“Watch him take it. He’s so good at it.”

There was nothing in the world that was going to keep the moan in Lambert’s chest. Eskel’s cockhead pressed against him and popped inside, his thick shaft following as Eskel fed it into him in one long slide. The young wolf keened as he was speared open, as Geralt watched with wide eyes, as Eskel growled in pleasure.

There were fingers tracing his hole, and Lambert gasped as he realized Geralt was feeling the stretch of his rim, rubbing the sensitive skin where it was drawn taut around Eskel’s cock. Eskel gave him a slow, long thrust, letting Geralt feel how much depth he was taking.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Eskel purred, hips pushing out moans from Lambert on every thrust. “Look at him, Geralt. Isn’t he?”

Geralt looked dumbstruck, staring alternately at the massive cock fucking into him and Lambert’s gasping, overwhelmed face. It took a moment for his brain to kick in and make him speak, but it wasn’t much. “Fucking hell.” 

Lambert gasped and laughed at the same time, reaching out to palm at the very welcoming bulge in Geralt’s trousers. What the fuck did he still have clothes on? “You’re so eloquent,” he teased. Even between thrusts he could still talk. Sure, it was punctuated by moans, but it was speaking. Lambert got Geralt’s laces in his fingers and tugged. “Come here,” he panted. “Let me have your cock, too.”

Geralt looked like he’d been shocked, but burst into action, hastily shucking his pants and stripping out of his shirt. Lambert tried not to laugh at him, but it was funny to see him scramble and he was giddy- filled with cock and warmth and affection. Geralt was smart enough to grab a pillow on the way up, propping Lambert enough to make getting his mouth on him easier.

He’d never seen Geralt’s cock up close. His sexual interactions with the white wolf were limited to giving each other a drunken handjob once every few years. Eskel was more the type to fall for his wiles. It was disappointing, because Geralt’s cock was like the rest of him: fucking pretty.

With how pale his skin was, Geralt’s cock flushed beautifully, blushing and graceful and nicely curved upward. A small pearl of precum at the tip made Lambert’s mouth water. He barely waited until Geralt was within distance to get his mouth around him.

“Oh,” Geralt sighed, his fingers touching Lambert’s cheek as he greedily took him in. Sucking a cock sideways was a strange feat, but he didn’t care much as long as he could get it deep enough to swallow around. 

Eskel pushed his thighs further up, almost bringing his knees to his chest. The change in angle made him whimper around Geralt’s prick. 

“Fuck, Lam,” Eskel cursed, keeping his pace deep and steady. “Never seen you suck someone else off. Gorgeous. You’re such a good boy.”

That never failed to get a moan out of him, one that only deepened when Geralt reached down to stroke Lambert’s cock as Eskel fucked into him. It was hard to concentrate on sucking dick when there was a massive cock fucking into him and a firm hand jerking him off, but Lambert did his best. Geralt didn’t seem to have a problem with it, and was running his fingers through Lambert’s hair reverently as he worked. 

Eskel shifted slightly, and Lambert jolted, whimpering around Geralt’s cock. “There we go,” he purred, shortening his thrusts and forcing the head of his cock to rub right where Lambert wanted it. The constant pressure against his prostate had Lambert pulling off of Geralt’s cock and gasping. 

“Esk, oh- right there, right there.”

“I’ve got you,” he said, working his hips faster. Lambert shook and felt his balls tighten. Fuck, that was perfect.

Geralt didn’t seem to care that Lambert had forgotten his cock, because the man was very diligently stoking Lambert off, working his hand in pace with Eskel’s movement. The coordination was relentless, and Lambert wasn’t going to last. 

He dared to open his eyes, moaning when he realized they were both looking at him, watching his reactions. Geralt licked his lips and muttered. “Come on, love.”

Lambert’s body lit up, his orgasm ripping up through his spine, making him gasp like a drowning man. His heartbeat was ripping through his entire body, his cum splashing down onto his chest and stomach. He was vaguely aware he kicked someone. Probably Eskel. That didn’t seem to dissuade him, however, because just as Lambert began to come back to himself Eskel shouted and pressed deep, chasing him with his own completion.

Lambert felt boneless and drunk, pawing up at Eskel to get him to bend in for a kiss. The larger man slowly pulled out, leaving Lambert filthy and wet and open. Fuck, it was great. 

Eskel collapsed next to him like a fallen tree, kissing clumsily in his post-orgasmic daze. Blindly, Lambert reached out and caught Geralt’s hip and shoved him down the bed. Geralt made a confused noise. 

“Fuck me,” Lambert slurred, moving his legs so Geralt could get between them. “Come on, you too.”

“What?” Geralt asked, hands gentle on Lambert’s knees. “Are you sure?”

His hole was tender, but he loved getting pushed to the point of pain. He liked being fucked again and again. It felt so good. “Yeah, yeah, please.” He pulled his legs up, reached down to guide Geralt to him. “I like it. Want it.”

Geralt groaned as he pushed in, his eyes drifting closed and his breath stuttering. “Fuck, Lambert,” he said, testing what pace he could take. Lambert tried to rock down against him, but gave up when Geralt took control and fucked him firmly. Lambert moaned in time with the thrusts, loving the ache in his body, the burn of friction against his tender skin. He praised Geralt, let him know he loved it, that it was good.

Geralt was staring down at him. His eyes were lidded and lustful, but also held a sense of relief. Lambert reached up and touched his face. Geralt shuttered. Oh, that was lovely. 

“You like it?” He asked, drawing his fingers down Geralt’s jaw. “Do I feel good?”

Geralt nodded fervently, his hips speeding up. “You’re so good, Lam,” he groaned, eyelids fluttering. “Take it so well.” Lambert clenched down on him, gasping at the ache. Geralt jerked, speeding up. 

Lambert whined at the increase of friction, used his legs to pull Geralt into him harder, squeezed down on him to milk his cock. Geralt looked so close, and it was a gorgeous sight. “Come in me,” he panted, clasping his hands over Geralt’s on his hips, “come in me.”

Geralt locked up when he came, stilling and shaking and pulling fast, desperate breaths. His ghostly skin was flushed a pretty pink, his lips bitten and hair wild. Lambert reached up to brush strands of it from his sweating brow and Geralt sighed at the touch and opened his eyes.

Lambert wanted to say something catty or dismissive, something to lighten the air or make them all laugh, but he was struck dumb. Geralt looked so tender, almost as soft as Eskel had when Lambert had blurted out he’d loved him. So instead, Lambert just smiled at him.

Geralt seemed to blink back to life and looked between them as he pulled out. A frown was creasing his brow. Lambert was about to ask what was wrong then Geralt dove down between his legs, mouth sudden and hot against Lambert’s renewed erection. 

“Oh, fuck, Geralt!” He buried his hands in the white locks as he fought the urge to fuck up into him. Geralt was a quiet man, but his mouth was wickedly talented. He’d only felt it once before after winning a very interesting game of Gwent, and he hadn’t lasted long then either. The addition of Geralt’s fingers pushing into his loosened body had Lambert gasping wetly.

“Great idea,” Eskel murmured, rolling to lean over Lambert’s body, his hands already kneading his heaving chest. “Love when he keeps coming. Should see how many you can give us one of these nights.” He kissed Lambert, swallowing the desperate noise leaking from him. 

Eskel raked his hand through Lambert’s hair, gripping a fistful and pulling just enough to light up his scalp. “You going to come for him, Lam? Come on, Geralt wants it.”

Geralt hummed in agreement, and the vibration pushed him over. Lambert came so hard he sobbed, legs twitching as Geralt swallowed around him. He shook through it, his muscles so tensed that the strain shivered through him and he became boneless, weak.

“Good boy,” Eskel crooned, kissing along Lambert’s cheek and brow. “You did so good, Lam.”

Lambert drew quivering breaths as he came down, floating in the aftermath. He was exhausted, spent from the emotional drain and the physical activity. Geralt made his way up the bed to lay next to him, licking his lips obscenely. 

“You alright?” He grunted, voice even rougher from swallowing cock. 

Lambert nodded, patting Geralt’s arm. He was barely alert, adrift somewhere between blissed out and drowsy. Eskel chuckled and moved, pulling a large fur across the bed to drape over them. They were laying sideways, their feet dangling off the side, but it didn’t matter. Geralt pressed in, placing his arm across Lambert’s chest. Eskel did the same, holding Geralt’s bicep where they crossed over.

“Gunna nap now,” Lambert muttered, not caring about the trickle of cum leaking from him or the stickiness of his thighs. He would bathe later. They wouldn't judge him. 

“Okay, darlin,” Eskel said, nosing Lambert’s temple. “Take a quick one, then we’ll get cleaned up and in bed proper.”

He nodded, eyes already closed. He was so warm, and he felt safe, held on both sides. He could sleep here. “Okay,” he whispered. Then, because his poisonous mind insisted on it; “you don’t gotta stay.”

Geralt nipped at his shoulder unhappily. “We’re staying,” he growled. “We want to stay.”

In his barely conscious state, Lambert allowed the smile to form, genuine and embarrassingly soft. “Want you to stay, too.” He sighed, sinking further into the bedding. “I want to stay here with you.”

Eskel sniffed, squeezing his arm tighter across Lambert’s chest. 

“He’ll be okay, Eskel,” Geralt whispered. Lambert barely heard them as they settled down under the furs. 

“We’ve got him.”

* * *

  
  


Lambert would never be mentally sound and emotionless, that much he came to accept, but he did get better. 

Things changed between the three of them. They grew closer, they shared more. There was comfort and open ears. There was a sparring partner and someone to scream to. Geralt showed his own wounds, his doubts, carefully unwrapping them and revealing one small part at a time, accepting that he didn’t need to hide them away in shame. Eskel basked in love and affection, so often denied to him because of his mutilation. He told more stories, laughed louder and smiled wider, unafraid of the way his lips were pulled by his scars. 

Lambert began to sleep.

At first he put it on not sleeping alone anymore- apparently admitting you loved someone meant they wanted to sleep in the same bed and hold you close. He always felt safer with someone trusted to his back, but then on the rare nights he didn’t have his kin with him, he still fell into sleep easier. He napped in the daytime on the couch or in front of the fire. He woke in a panic less often, calmed faster. 

That winter, they only needed the Axii twice more, and each time had been brief: ending with affection and comfort instead of anger and embarrassment. Lambert could show his belly to his brothers and not worry about their teeth sinking into it.

Lambert would never be normal. He would never be able to be the heartless, cold witcher the world painted on them. He would never forget the trials, the boys, the pain. He would never be able to let it go and be the soulless monster-killer they had meant him to be when they strapped him that table decades ago. 

Then again, none of them were, and they were learning to be just fine with that. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gave everyone the feels for that prickly little piece of shit.
> 
> Thanks to my discord for all the encouragement. Love y’all. I appreciate comments. Like to know what works and what doesn’t in my writing so I can improve.


End file.
